


Upward and Downward

by LadyWallace



Series: Above and Below [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Avenging Angel Aziraphale, Aziraphale to the rescue, BAMF Aziraphale, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Crowley, Tortured Crowley, Wings, conniving Gabriel, gen - Freeform, kidnap for ransom, post armageddidn't, sequel story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: (Sequel to 'Above and Below') After making him look like an idiot in front of the other angels, Gabriel is not at all happy with Aziraphale and Crowley. Desperate to get back into Heaven's good graces, he forces Aziraphale to do a job for him. Aziraphale doesn't want to, but with Crowley's life on the line, can he refuse?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Above and Below [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625518
Comments: 34
Kudos: 190
Collections: Beautiful and Stunning Good Omens Fics, My faves - Good Omens Whump





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys, I know a lot of you have been waiting for this one! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> And yes, this is a sequel to my story Above and Below, so you might want to read that one first. But for a short recap: After Armageddidn't, Heaven is struggling with earth missions because Aziraphale was their best operative. This leads Gabriel to trying to get Azi back to work for him personally so he doesn't look like a fool anymore. When Azi refuses, Gabriel locks him in Heaven and threatens him until he complies. Crowley, of course, launches a rescue but they both know Gabriel isn't going to let this one go so easily...

"I know I've said it before, but I'm going to say it again. I really do not like anything about this mission."

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley, who was currently sitting in the driver's seat of the Bentley, with a short sigh. "Yes, I'm aware of how you feel, but there's no indication that this isn't exactly what it was presented as."

"Or it could be some sort of set-up. I know we're going on a month since Heaven or Hell have bothered us, but I'm honestly just waiting for the other shoe to drop on that one. I still don't think Gabriel is going to let that go."

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn't really believe that either, if he were being honest. He clasped his hands together in his lap as he tried to push the memories of his internment in Heaven from his mind. He did truly fear Gabriel coming for him and Crowley again. Thought about it far too much. And yet, even more, he hated the thought of not doing what they were good at just for fear of their own safety.

"Yes, and that is why we are being cautious, dear."

Crowley glanced over at him, an apologetic look on his face for bringing the painful topic up. As if Aziraphale didn't already do that enough himself.

"Right, well, I guess we better go check it out, then. Make sure one way or another."

Aziraphale nodded and they got out of the car. He grabbed his sword from the backseat and Crowley tucked a small revolver into his coat, which he had taken to carrying. Since they had taken up the mantle of protectors of humanity, often going up against things that weren't entirely human, they had both taken to carrying weapons more readily. Especially since, now that they no longer held their positions, their powers were a little less sure and packed less punch.

Their current job involved a missing child, which is why they had come out here, despite the fact that the circumstances had been somewhat suspicious. One of their informants had told them that there had been a child gone missing, and that they had seen the poor boy being led into an abandoned building in a bad part of town. Crowley had been suspicious from the start, and so had Aziraphale, but neither of them would risk a child's life for the sake of their paranoia. Of course, Crowley said that anyone trying to capture them would have counted on that, but Aziraphale ignored him as much as possible. Unlike Crowley, he still chose to see the best in people.

Even when it seemed to consistently come back to bite him.

The address was an old house in a condemned area and it looked like it was about to come down. He and Crowley shared a look and went on their way, cautiously.

The door was practically hanging off its hinges, so neither of them needed to use their powers to open it. The rotten floorboards creaked under their feet.

"Do be careful, dear, we could go through this in an instant," Aziraphale muttered.

"Yes, mother," Crowley quipped.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in annoyance, but nodded. "Perhaps we should each take a floor? I'll go upstairs if you check the basement."

Crowley didn't look like he wanted to split up, but they also wanted to be out of there as soon as possible, so he nodded.

Aziraphale crept up the stairs which were actually still mostly intact, and seemed a lot less dangerous than the actual floor. Not that that was any consolation. He shuddered at the thought of a child being kept here.

"Hello?" he called after a moment as he got onto the upper landing.

He cautiously made his way down the hall, looking into each room as he went, but there was no sign of life.

Aziraphale turned around to go join Crowley in the basement. In reality that was probably a more likely place to find anyone hiding out.

He heard the creak of a footstep below and froze.

"Hello? Crowley, is that you?"

He pulled his sword from its sheath and hurried back down the stairs, glancing around at the shadows.

He was about to conjure a little light when he felt a definitely dark presence behind him and something pricked his side.

"Put that blade down easy, angel."

The dark, nasty voice was one Aziraphale recognized all too quickly as belonging to Hastur.

"Hastur, what are you doing here?" he demanded, annoyed and looking around for any other demons, particularly his companion.

"Everything will be explained soon enough," Hastur said. "I'm just surprised you two actually showed up."

"We had a bet on," one of the other demons said with a sneer.

Aziraphale turned slightly to face Hastur, glowering. "It appears we made a grave error in judgement."

"That you did." Hastur grinned.

More demons appeared from the shadows, surrounding the angel. Hastur pressed the blade more firmly into Aziraphale's flesh. "Put down the sword, angel, and we'll talk all civil-like."

"You expect me to believe that?" Aziraphale demanded, still making no move to relinquish his weapon.

"Believe what you want, but we have no use for you dead. No, it's not you who will suffer if you disobey."

Aziraphale's heart thudded as he heard sounds of a struggle down below in the basement.

"Crowley…" he breathed, making as if to rush for the basement.

The demons surged forward and hemmed him in, more weapons held ready. He huffed in frustration and fear for his friend and finally dropped the blade.

One of the demons kicked it away, and Hastur leaned close to Aziraphale. "Good. Now…this is for you from your old mate Gabriel." He pressed an envelope against Aziraphale's chest and the angel instinctively held onto it. "He says that you do what that letter tells you to and you'll get your friend back alive. Until that time, he's gonna keep Crowley as collateral."

The door to the basement slammed open and four more demons emerged, dragging a bound and unconscious Crowley up the stairs. Aziraphale reacted instinctively, surging forward, only to be held back by the surrounding demons, who threatened him with weapons.

"Do your job, or you won't see him again," Hastur said with a nasty grin. "Frankly, I'm rather hoping you'll decline."

"You…horrid creatures!" Aziraphale snapped, shaking the demons' filthy hands away from him. He stepped toward Hastur, at least planning on not going out without a fight, when something struck him in the back of the head and he collapsed onto his face, feeling the rough wood under him before darkness took him into its embrace.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley woke to movement_ and blinked his eyes open halfway but stayed still so as not to tip off whoever else might be there.

His head was aching and he was lying across the backseat of a car, his hands tied behind him and his ankles also trussed together. He glanced up at the front. In the driver's seat, he saw one of the demons who had jumped him in the basement of the old house.

In the passenger seat was the all-too-familiar form of Hastur.

A brief panic surged through him at the realization that he was alone. Aziraphale wasn't there. That was either really good or really bad.

He knew they shouldn't have taken that job. He knew it had been a set-up.

He shifted slightly to see how tight the ropes were and Hastur turned instantly, a nasty smile on his face.

"Well, you're awake, then?"

Crowley glowered at him. He was missing his sunglasses but remembered those falling off sometime during the rough fight in the basement, right before he'd been hit over the head with a crowbar. "Disappointed?" he quipped.

Hastur smirked even harder. "Not really. See, where you're going, you'll probably be begging for death."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Delightful. "That sounds comforting. Where's Aziraphale?"

"Oh, the angel has his own part to play. Don't you worry about him," Hastur said in a way that made Crowley worry quite a bit more.

He struggled harder against the bonds. "What did you do to him, you slimy bastard?"

Hastur held up his hands defensively. "Relax, Crowley. Your precious angel needed to be in one piece for this one. He has a job to do. Especially if he ever wants to see you again."

Crowley still didn't like that, but knew that if Hastur had hurt Aziraphale, he would most definitely be bragging about it. As long as Aziraphale was okay, Crowley would be as well.

Well…mostly anyway.

"What do you want me for then?" he demanded.

"Oh, _we_ don't really want you this time, Crowley. We're just the middle men."

Crowley frowned and then a cold horror settled itself into his stomach. "Wait…you don't mean…"

Hastur grinned, his blackened teeth showing. "Oh yes. You're in for a little righteous justice, Crowley."

Crowley slumped back on the seats, thinking quickly. Back when Aziraphale had been held captive in Heaven by Gabriel, Hastur had paid Crowley a visit and essentially let on that Heaven and Hell were more or less cooperating. At least some of their higher-ups were. And Hastur had also gleefully made it clear that if Crowley and Aziraphale were to overstep their boundaries in the eyes of Heaven and Hell, the demons would take it upon themselves to take them out.

And Crowley and Aziraphale had pissed Gabriel off royally. Not only when Aziraphale had refused to be his personal attack dog, but also when Crowley had called him out on his hypocrisy in front of all the other angels. That couldn't have gone over well.

And now it looked like it was coming back to bite them.

What the Heaven could Aziraphale have been tasked to do?

And then Crowley realized what he was—collateral. Whatever they wanted Aziraphale to do they were holding his safety over the angel's head. Bastards.

Crowley needed to get free as soon as possible.

He started to look around the car, wriggling so that he might be able to free a hand, open a door and simply leap to freedom and hope he got far away quickly enough to escape another capture.

It didn't go like that though. Before he could loosen his bonds, they pulled to a stop and the demon driver and Hastur got out and opened the back door at Crowley's feet, grabbing his ankles and yanking him out of the car roughly so that he landed on the pavement beneath.

He grunted and blinked upward as footsteps approached.

"Is everything set?"

Crowley had a sinking feeling as he heard the voice. He looked up to see Gabriel striding over to stop right in front of the two demons, Crowley lying helplessly between them.

"We brought you Crowley. The angel has been left his instructions. He has probably started already."

"Good," Gabriel said. "Get him up."

Hastur and the other demon reached down and yanked Crowley to his feet.

Gabriel looked at him with more pure hatred than righteous fury. "Crowley. I've been looking forward to seeing you again. I've got a lot of plans for you."

He backhanded Crowley across the face and caused his cheek to throb.

"Cut his feet loose, I'll take him from here—I'm sure you two will be a bit squeamish."

Crowley frowned but then finally realized where they had stopped. It looked to be a slightly rundown, abandoned church.

But rundown and abandoned or not, it was still holy ground.

Crowley swallowed hard, hating where this was going.

Hastur sneered slightly at the archangel, but drew a blade and leaned down to slice through the ropes binding Crowley's ankles. Crowley steadied himself as Gabriel drew a sword—the one that Crowley had returned to him previously—and nudged it into his side.

"No funny business, serpent. Let's go."

He turned back to the demons. "Keep an eye out for Aziraphale. If he strays too far from the path, make sure he understands the consequences of his actions."

Hastur smirked nastily. "Just save some for me, won't you?"

Gabriel grabbed the back of Crowley's collar and used the grip to steer him toward the church grounds. Crowley could already feel the effects of it and he balked before they reached the actual holy ground.

Gabriel leaned in close. "I haven't forgotten what you did, Crowley. And believe me, you're going to pay for it now."

"Ha-hang on," Crowley stuttered. "If I'm supposed to be collateral then you can't actually hurt me."

Gabriel smiled thinly and it was not a nice look. "All I need is Aziraphale to _believe_ that I won't hurt you if he does what I ask him to. But I told him last time what I would do to you if you two ever crossed me again. He should know that I am an angel of my word."

He gave Crowley a hearty yank and Crowley felt his feet start to burn instantly as he stumbled onto the holy ground.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale woke with a groan_ , reaching up to grasp his head, feeling a lump on the back of it that he pushed some of his powers to heal.

He gasped in sudden realization and surged upright, glancing around.

But he was totally alone. No more demons.

No Crowley.

"Crowley!" he cried, staggering to his feet and searching around the house and out in the street. But the only thing that remained was the Bentley parked on the other side of the road and a pair of smashed sunglasses in the basement where Crowley must have been attacked. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

Aziraphale hurried back into the house and retrieved his sword, then spotted the letter lying on the ground. He had forgotten that Hastur had shoved it into his hand before he had been knocked unconscious.

Heart pounding, Aziraphale tore open the envelope.

He recognized Gabriel's neat script instantly and felt very ill indeed.

" _Aziraphale,_

_You refuse to work for me when I ask nice, so I'm not going to do that this time. There's something I need. The address and description of the item is below. I have Crowley, and you will only see him alive again if you comply with my instructions. Retrieve the object and return to Trafalgar Square where someone will meet you to pick up the item and give you the address where you will find the demon. You have twelve hours. After that his life is forfeit."_

Aziraphale clutched the paper with shaking hands. How had they been so stupid? And it had really all been his fault, insisting that they come here.

And now Crowley was in Gabriel's clutches, and…oh heavens. Aziraphale remembered all too well the threats Gabriel had made against Crowley when Aziraphale had been the archangel's captive. If Gabriel did what he had threatened to his friend…

Aziraphale pulled a time piece from his pocket and checked it. He'd only been out for about fifteen minutes. He could play this two different ways. Either do exactly what Gabriel asked and hope that he would give Crowley up at the end, or he could try to find Crowley now and forget Gabriel's note entirely.

But Aziraphale had no idea how long it would take him to track down the place Gabriel had taken Crowley. And he also had no idea how many other angels or demons might be around it. He only had himself now, and he had to make a calculated decision if he and Crowley were going to get out of this alive.

Or…well, there was a third option.

Aziraphale could do both. He could go get what Gabriel wanted, but have someone looking for Crowley as he did so. After all, there was no guarantee that Gabriel would honor the exchange anyway. Better to get Aziraphale and Crowley out of his hair for good—at least that's the way he would probably see it. And if that was the case, Aziraphale would be ready for whatever eventuality Gabriel had planned.

He hurried outside and to the Bentley. He picked up the car phone Crowley had installed and dialed a familiar number.

"Yes…Sergent Shadwell? Yes, this is Mr. Fell…no, no, I…look, it's about my partner Mr. Crowley. Something's happened and I need to find him… No, he's been taken!...What? No, I don't think it was…oh never mind, yes, yes, definitely witches. Lots and lots of witchy witches…Look, can you please just put your best men on this and give me a ring if you find anything about him?...yes, thank you."

He hung up, wondering if that had been a mistake after all. He called a couple of the other informants that he and Crowley used on cases and hopefully now there would be a good few people looking out for Crowley.

It wasn't much, but it made Aziraphale feel less like he was completely abandoning his friend.

"Alright then," he murmured as he read the address again and snapped his fingers to start the car. It revved in what he thought was an unhappy way, and he clucked at it.

"Come now, do be good. It's Crowley's life on the line."

The Bentley seemed to run better after that, and sped a bit more than Aziraphale wished as he pulled out onto the street to head toward his destination. He really wished Crowley would install seatbelts in this contraption.

Perhaps he could persuade his friend to do so if they got out of this alive.

Right now, though, he had other things to worry about.

_~~~~~~~_

_Gabriel dragged Crowley_ through the doors of the church and down the aisle between some broken and scattered pews, toward the back where an alter still sat. Once they got there, he threw Crowley to the ground.

Crowley cried out as the holy ground seared into his skin, his clothes doing nothing to protect him. He tried to struggle to his knees or feet to lessen the surface area, but Gabriel's foot came down and slammed into the center of his chest, pinning him.

"Struggle all you want, snake. It's not going to do you any good," the archangel said, seeming all too satisfied to witness Crowley writhing under his foot, trying to escape. "All you're going to get here is what you justly—what you righteously—deserve."

Crowley hissed, trying to shift into snake form to escape, but the overwhelming holiness of the place was blocking all his powers. He could feel blisters starting to form on his back and shoulders, the pain agonizing. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to give Gabriel the satisfaction of screaming, but moisture gathered in his eyes and began to slide from their corners all the same.

This seemed to please Gabriel and he finally removed his foot and reached down to drag Crowley upright again.

"I've given Aziraphale twelve hours to finish his mission," Gabriel said. "And that is how long your punishment will last."

Crowley couldn't help the small sigh of relief as Gabriel raised him bodily and slammed him down on top of the alter. He didn't want to think about what was coming next, but it was also acting as a barrier between him and the holy ground, for which he was grateful.

"Where did you send him?" Crowley asked hoarsely, shifting against his bound hands and wincing at the blisters that now covered his back and shoulders.

"I sent him to get something that is very important. Something that will give anyone who has it the upper hand in any…conflict that arises."

Crowley felt his stomach clench at the archangel's words. "What do you mean 'conflict'?"

Gabriel smirked. "Well, come on, you don't think that little snafu that we called Armageddon was _It_ did you?"

To be fair, Crowley didn't have any hope that it could have possibly been 'It'. Of course they could never be that lucky. But on the other hand, he didn't think that whatever came next would be any time soon.

"Your new demonic pals know about this?" he asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "If they don't know the details it won't hurt them. Not now anyway. They didn't exactly need persuading once I informed them that you and Aziraphale would be suffering for it."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Yeah, Hastur never needed any other motivation than the promise of causing pain. Pain delivered to living things in general was good—pain delivered to Crowley was better. "That sounds about right," he muttered.

Gabriel rolled him onto his side and sliced his bonds. Crowley froze, wondering if he should try it and decided his situation couldn't get any worse than it already was.

He kicked out at Gabriel and his boot hit the archangel in the stomach.

Gabriel folded with an _oomph_ and Crowley slid off the alter, back onto the ground. He cried out at the burn against his hands and knees but gritted his teeth to endure it as he dashed toward the door.

Only to have Gabriel appear in front of him and slam a fist directly into his face.

Crowley went down hard, barely feeling the holy ground burn into him for the pain exploding in his face. He reached up weakly and felt blood dripping from his nose. He thought it might be broken.

Gabriel dragged him back up and once again slammed him onto the alter, this time, bringing out chains and using them to secure Crowley, hand and foot, to the alter. His head lolled to the side, watching the archangel and tugging uselessly against his restraints.

"You know…" Gabriel said conversationally. "I still believe that you and Aziraphale pulled something during your trials. I'm not entirely sure what, but I don't entirely believe that he is immune to Hellfire. And I'm not entirely ready to buy in to the theory that you're immune to holy water either."

Crowley blinked and his eyes tracked to Gabriel once again, his breath catching in his throat. No…Gabriel couldn't really be thinking of…

The archangel went to one side of the church and retrieved a jug. Crowley's breathing quickened and he struggled as he knew exactly where this was going.

"No…please don't do this," he couldn't help but say.

Gabriel smirked, seeming happy to hear his protests. "You're scared. Just as I suspected." He dipped his hand into the jug and brought it out, dripping some of the destructive substance.

"Let's talk," Crowley said quickly. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"I don't want to know anything, Crowley," Gabriel said. "You're not here for information. You're here so that you can suffer. And damn me if I'm not looking forward to seeing that."

Crowley was about to say that he could very well be damned, but Gabriel flicked his fingers out and holy water spattered against Crowley's face. The demon just barely managed to squeeze his eyes shut in time before the corrosive liquid began to sear into him. He screamed at the pure agony, far worse than the holy ground had been.

Gabriel watched, seemingly satisfied as he witnessed the blisters form on Crowley's skin and set the jug by his shoulder. "A good start. A very good start indeed. Let's see just how sorry you are, demon filth."

Crowley bit back a whimper. He really hoped that whatever Aziraphale was doing, he was going to hurry.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale drove out of London in Crowley's Bentley to get to the address Gabriel had left on the paper. He really had no idea what he was walking into, but all he was aware of was the time slowly ticking away. The twelve hours he had been given expiring by the minute. It was strange; being an immortal creature, Aziraphale rarely gave much thought to time, and yet now he felt that it was slipping away from him all too quickly.

It was even worse because he was just sure that Gabriel would not be leaving Crowley alone during that time. There was no way he would simply stand by and let Crowley be after everything. When he'd been taken captive, Aziraphale had learned something about the archangel he supposed he had previously ignored or just never seen in action before. Gabriel held a grudge; he was petty, and he was cruel. Especially when it was his image on the line.

Aziraphale feared for his friend.

Best to get this farce of a mission over with as quickly as possible.

Still, he had no idea what he was doing at a manor house. What could Heaven possibly want with something belonging to some human?

He thought that perhaps he didn't want to find out, and yet, he was going to have to.

He parked the Bentley out in front of the gate that lead to the property, hoping he wouldn't be noticed that way. After a slight hesitation, he took his sword with him as he got out of the car. There was no telling what Gabriel was sending him into, after all. It was best to be prepared for anything. There had to be some reason the archangel had gone to all the trouble working with Hastur and sending Aziraphale off instead of retrieving the item himself.

He waved his hand at the wrought iron gate and it swung open slowly with an ominous creak. Aziraphale stepped forward, surprised when he felt the slight tingle that was unmistakably from warding. He frowned. It wasn't enough to keep him out, but he could still sense it. He glanced at the gate and saw small runes inscribed on the bars, the kind that would keep demons out. Somewhat like the ones he had put up around his bookshop except his were meant to keep any angel but himself out as well. He had hated doing it, but it had been a necessary evil after what had happened to him.

Well, that explained why the job wasn't given to Hastur and the others. Though that might also have been because Gabriel didn't want them to know what the item was. Aziraphale felt even more worried about what he was walking into.

He made his way cautiously across the vast grounds, seeing an old car, possibly a Rolls Royce—Crowley would know for sure—sitting in the circle drive. Someone must be home.

Aziraphale paused and thought. He would probably have the best luck going in the back. However, if there was hired help, he would most definitely run into someone if he ended up in the kitchens. And yet, he could hardly ring the bell and walk inside the front door. Not if he was meant to rob the place.

He supposed a window would be his best bet.

Aziraphale sighed as he crossed to the side of the house and picked up a bucket that someone had left on the lawn. He carried it to the window and stood on it so he could see inside.

There was a hallway and no one was in it, so he decided this was as good a place as any.

Aziraphale performed a small miracle to open the window and heaved himself up and over the sill, collapsing on the other side in a rather undignified heap, the hilt of his sword digging into his hip. He stood, tugging his clothes straight and looked around, wondering where he should look. He still didn't even know _what_ he was looking for. Though Gabriel's message had seemed to imply he would know it when he saw it.

He could certainly _feel_ something about this house. There was more warding inside that felt like it was dampening his powers some even if it wasn't directed at him specifically. What on earth could a seemingly common squire have in his house that he would need to ward it against the supernatural? On that note, how would he even be aware of the supernatural to begin with?

Aziraphale, glancing at his pocket watch, decided that those questions could wait as his friend was in danger and he didn't much care about anything else at the moment. He made his way cautiously down the hall, glancing into each room he passed.

The feeling he was getting seemed to culminate in one place in particular and Aziraphale made his way there.

Two large wooden doors opened into the room and he pushed through, feeling another, almost painful, tingle of warding before he stopped, mouth agape with awe.

It was a huge library. Well…not as big as his own collection, of course, but still very impressive. But it didn't just contain books. There were weapons and artifacts, things Aziraphale hadn't seen for centuries. There were also articles of legitimate magic and _books_ of magic. Some of them, he had been trying to get his hands on for hundreds of years! Who could possibly be the lucky owner of this delightful collection?

And then he saw it, or rather, became aware of it. It wasn't really much of anything to look at, but he could _feel_ the power coming off of it—well, that wasn't quite right. It was more the _potential_ of power than actual power, but still… Aziraphale suddenly ignored everything else and crossed the room to the locked glass case the item resided in.

He reached for it, trying to summon his powers in the warded room to unlock the case, when he heard the creak of someone's weight on the wooden floor behind him and the ominous sound of a gun cocking.

"How the bloody hell did you get in here?"

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley was already hoarse_ from screaming and couldn't even really be bothered to care when Gabriel finally gave him a breather. Breather, hah. He wasn't doing too well with breathing right now. Not since some of the holy water had burned its way straight though his flesh into one of his lungs. He coughed and choked on something thick and metallic that also burned his throat. He spat quickly to one side and his blood hissed against the holy ground.

"So how did you do it?" Gabriel asked him almost conversationally. "The holy water?"

Crowley glowered at him balefully, his body shuddering from the pain and the shock from trauma. Holes were burned through his clothing and underneath were nasty acid-like wounds corroding his flesh. His whole being was in agony, but Gabriel was making sure to be very careful to do enough damage to hurt, but not enough to discorporate him. He wasn't sure he was entirely grateful for that at this point.

The archangel snorted as Crowley failed to answer him. "Not so chatty anymore?"

Crowley rolled his head away from Gabriel, closing his eyes as he swallowed convulsively. He gave a soft grunt as Gabriel grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back around to face him.

"You know you're not going to survive this, right?" he said. "After Aziraphale comes to make the exchange, he'll be taken to Heaven where he belongs, and you—or, what's left of you—will be handed back over to Hell and whatever punishment they see fit."

Crowley blinked up at him. "You mean I won't even have the pleasure of you doing me in yourself?" he croaked.

Gabriel smiled tightly. "Hastur laid his claim. Guess you killed a friend of his."

Crowley smirked slightly, though thinking of Ligur wasn't quite as funny when he had holy water burning its way into him. "You hurt my friend too."

Gabriel sneered, pulling back. "Not without cause. Aziraphale would not see reason. I had to use a firm hand."

"Oh yeah, I saw the physical manifestation of that firm hand," Crowley spat, still remembering the horror of the hand shaped bruises he had healed from Aziraphale's skin like drawing poison from a wound. "And how did things go down in Heaven after all that? Did they use a firm hand on you too?"

He knew he was going to pay for that one but it was worth it to see the expression that crossed Gabriel's face. The archangel reached down and grabbed him by the throat, yanking him up as far as his restraints would allow and slamming his head back against the alter.

"You ruined my reputation," Gabriel snarled. "I'm still not back in Heaven's good graces because on you. My own soldiers don't follow me without question anymore!"

"Sorry," Crowley croaked. "It wasn't like that was my intention or anything."

Gabriel backhanded him and split Crowley's lip. "And that's why you'll pay."

He reached for the pitcher again and flicked several drops of holy water across Crowley's stomach. The demon howled and strained against his chains as the acidic liquid ate into his soft flesh.

When he could finally breathe again past the pain, each breath rattling wetly in his lungs, he glowered up at Gabriel. "You know Aziraphale is never going to let this go, right? He's never going to do what you want him to. You might as well give up, leave us alone like you were originally doing. I think you could agree that life was better for you before that."

He squirmed, tugging against his restraints and Gabriel, sneering, slammed his hand still wet with the holy water, against Crowley's freshly burned belly to hold him still. Steam rose and the demon gave a strangled cry as Gabriel's hand burned through his shirt and into his skin.

"Aziraphale won't get much of a choice, and, frankly, I doubt he'll have much fight left in him after you're killed. Perhaps I'll ask Beelzebub to let him attend your execution personally. What do you think that would do to him?"

Crowley bit back a whimper, blinking tears of pain from his eyes as Gabriel pressed harder. The demon hissed sibilantly, and spat at the archangel. "I think he'll clip your wings, you bastard! Aziraphale won't be broken so easily!"

Gabriel finally removed his hand and Crowley gasped, his body instinctively wanting to curl up against the pain, but he was again stopped by the restraints holding him flat. Gabriel gripped his chin tightly, leaning over him and getting into his personal space.

"And what about you, snake? Do you break easier?"

Crowley swallowed hard, glowering up at Gabriel, but knew his eyes didn't show the conviction he wished they did. The pain was too much and another tear slid from his eye against his best efforts.

Gabriel smirked, all too pleased by his reaction. "That's what I thought."

He turned back to the jug and dipped his fingers into it again. "You had better hope Aziraphale gets here quickly. Or there might not be anything left of you for him to even say goodbye to."

Gabriel slid his finger down the center of Crowley's chest, leaving a burning trail in his wake and Crowley arched his head back and screamed.

He wasn't sure he had ever felt so helpless in his entire, very, very long life.

He prayed Aziraphale had a plan.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale spun around_ at the voice and raised his hands.

Behind him stood a man holding a gun to him in an unwavering hand. He held himself like he might have been a military man. He was, if Aziraphale were to guess, in his sixties, and had a scared, hard face under a mass of mostly grey curly hair, giving him a somewhat wild appearance, dressed in a simple high-collared jumper and overcoat that could contain any number of weapons.

"Now, let's not do anything rash," Aziraphale said simply.

The man smiled. "I don't know how you got in here, but I promise you these bullets aren't normal. They'll kill just about anything. So think about that, old chap, before _you_ try something rash."

Aziraphale frowned, hoping to play dumb. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The man let out a short laugh. "Oh, I know you're not human. I can feel it. I just don't know what you are yet. I can't get a read on you, which means…" His eyes widened suddenly with recognition. "Angel."

He suddenly dashed across the room and snatched something up from a display stand. It was a dagger with an exceptionally shiny blade. Aziraphale was slightly shocked to see that it was angelic steel. Where on earth had this man gotten that?

"Hold it there, halo."

Aziraphale huffed and simply reached into his coat and pulled out his sword, causing the man to shift his stance cautiously. "Look, I don't have time for this! Please, I'm very much in a hurry."

The man didn't budge. "You think your sword scares me? You look a little out of practice."

Aziraphale frowned, feeling a bit insulted as the man made a pointed glance toward his slightly soft middle. "Listen to me," he said. "I have no idea who you are, but a friend of mine is in danger and I need to take something to the people who have kidnapped him or they'll kill him!"

The man snorted. "You expect me to believe that story?"

"I'm an angel!" Aziraphale snapped, and released a bit of his true form, his halo glowing brighter and his wings appearing briefly.

The man staggered back a step, as if in awe. Aziraphale was pleased by the effect. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking this and going on my way."

The dagger came spinning toward him and Aziraphale raised his sword only just in time and batted it away from his chest. He dropped the halo and wings, and stood staring at the man who now only held the pistol that apparently didn't do anything against angels.

Slowly, Aziraphale reached down and picked up the dagger. He set it high on the bookshelf and then slowly put his sword away. "Now, I'm willing to talk like civilized people if you are."

The man stood there for another long second, and then finally lowered the gun and slid it somewhere inside his coat. "Alright, angel, tell me the truth."

He went over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky. After a pause, he poured another one and offered it to Aziraphale.

The angel stepped forward and accepted the drink. "I did tell you the truth. My friend and I have been coerced into helping some people who don't really like us all that much."

"So you think that's an acceptable reason to break into my house?" the man asked, downing his drink before pouring another.

Aziraphale felt slightly embarrassed. "Er, well, believe me, I would never normally consider it. Only they really will kill my friend if I don't bring them what they sent me here for."

The man studied him for a long moment. But didn't say anything.

Aziraphale sipped at the drink, and then asked. "What is your name?"

The man glanced up at him and after a long pause said, "John Wulf."

"Your collection is…it's fantastic," Aziraphale said, unable to hide his awe. "I'm a book collector myself and you have several volumes I didn't even know existed."

The man smiled slightly, with a sense of pride. "Family heirlooms."

"And is that the family heritage? Magic and demon hunting?" Aziraphale asked.

The man pursed his lips and shrugged. "Something like that. Let's just say it's had a few switches in scale over the centuries, and the last few generations have mostly been scholars but sometimes we come across something causing trouble and protect the common man from in."

Aziraphale glanced up at the desk on one side of the room and saw a very old, yet well-kept sword mounted on the wall behind the desk, and below that, in a case, was the shriveled, clawed hand of some creature.

"Ah," Aziraphale said, understanding dawning, along with a bit of genuine awe as he realized who he was standing next to.

John Wulf gave a small nod. "Look, if I were to help you, what would it cost me?"

Aziraphale looked to him gratefully, and motioned to the case he had been drawn to as soon as he came into the room. "That, I believe."

The man frowned, setting his glass down and heading over to the case. He motioned to the leather-bound item. "This?"

Aziraphale nodded.

Wulf stared at him for a long moment before he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the case, stepping back and motioning Aziraphale forward.

Aziraphale cautiously reached out and picked up the item, then slowly opened the leather folder to see what was inside.

At first glance, it didn't look like much at all, despite the fact that it was still throwing off powerful signals. It looked like a map of Britain created sometime in the early Dark Ages.

But as he studied it further he began to realize exactly what it was.

"Oh, dear lord," he breathed, his hands trembling so much he feared he would drop the map.

"You know what that is?" Wulf asked him.

Aziraphale nodded jerkily. "Y-yes. Yes, I believe I do."

It was, as far as he could tell, a map that showed the location of the four fabled Hollows of England. One of which, was the Holy Grail which he had gone on a quest to find with some of King Arthur's knights and never was able to recover. However, this indicated that it was somewhere in Whales. And judging from the power it was exuding, Aziraphale would fancy a bet that all the locations were completely accurate.

Which was very, very bad.

The Hollows had inordinate power; whoever held them would have the upper hand in any conflict. If Gabriel wanted to find them, then Aziraphale couldn't imagine what he had planned. He just knew it wasn't good.

He closed the map very carefully, almost wishing he hadn't seen it himself.

"Look, I don't really want to part with it, but if your friend really is in danger…" Wulf said gruffly.

"No," Aziraphale cut him off.

Wulf glanced up at him with a frown.

Aziraphale looked around, feeling suddenly paranoid, and handed the map back to him carefully. "No. You must keep this, and you must ward it properly. Hide it, destroy it, I don't care, just… do not let it get into the wrong hands!"

Wulf looked taken aback. "But I thought you said—"

"It doesn't matter," Aziraphale spat, his heart clenching even as he said it. "I can't simply…this is too big! It cannot fall into the wrong hands—it cannot fall into _anyone's_ hands!" He reached up and ran a hand through his hair in agitation.

Wulf nodded though still seemed slightly confused. "Alright then. There's a vault I can put this in under the mansion, but..."

"Look," Aziraphale told him firmly, grabbing him by the shoulder. "You need to ward this place against angels. I will show you what you can use, but promise me you will do so and that you will never let this thing see the light of day again. If you truly see yourself as a protector of this country, then that is what you must do."

Wulf nodded again and Aziraphale went over to his desk, quickly scribbling out several lines of sigils that would act as warding.

"This will hold for now, but I will make copies of some stronger ones for you later. Right now I have to go. I do apologize for the intrusion."

He started toward the door when Wulf called him back. "Hey, angel." Aziraphale turned, the term, so familiar and fond to him in someone else's voice causing his heart to clench suddenly.

Wulf offered a small nod. "I hope you find your friend."

Aziraphale nodded silently back and rushed out.

He was shaking by the time he got back to the Bentley, and just sat there for a long moment, gripping the wheel and forcing himself to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over.

What could he do? He could risk going to the meeting point in Trafalgar Square and try to get information out of whoever met him. But he had no idea if the contact would be alone, and it wasn't like Aziraphale was planning on torturing someone for information. He could find something else and try to bluff it off as the item Gabriel had wanted. He didn't think Hastur knew what it was supposed to be, so maybe he could at least get to the archangel and hopefully Crowley. But by then, his ruse would be useless.

No, he had to figure out where Gabriel had taken Crowley. He assumed it was on earth somewhere, but perhaps he had been wrong in that assumption. Maybe Gabriel took Crowley to Heaven. In which case Aziraphale had an incredibly small chance of launching a rescue.

But there was no way he could let Gabriel get his hands on that map. If he did, he had the terrible feeling that everything would be all over. Crowley would never forgive him if he gave that over for the demon, no matter how much he wanted to.

The car phone ringing startled him out of his dark thoughts and he fumbled with it before answering. "Yes, hello?"

The voice of one of his informants came over the line and Aziraphale listened intently.

"Look, it wasn't your partner with the red hair, but the other gent you told us about. They saw him waiting around the place earlier all shifty-like."

"Where?" Aziraphale nearly snapped.

The informant gave the address and Aziraphale scribbled it down on the back of his hand, not at all caring at the moment. "Thank you." He hung up and snapped his fingers to start the car.

It revved to life, almost as eager as Aziraphale was as he barely had to put his foot down before they were off back toward London.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale made it_ to the old church just as the sun was beginning to set. He parked the Bentley and looked around, but didn't see any angels or demons lying in wait.

It seemed his appearance was unexpected.

Good.

He drew his sword as he stepped toward the old church. As he approached the doors, he could hear the sounds of hoarse screams and an unpracticed fury rose up in him.

He brought his hand up and slammed the doors open with a burst of power.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley realized he was_ at the point where he didn't really care if Gabriel ended it or not. The sheer agony of the holy water just built up, most of it staying in the wounds, continuing on its burning way through him as he lay writhing and helpless while the archangel watched with a self-satisfied look on his face.

Gabriel wet his hand again and reached out to wrap his fingers around Crowley's throat, choking and burning him at the same time. Crowley let out a strangled scream, tears sliding down his face to hit the alter beneath him.

"How much more do you think you can take, demon?" Gabriel asked. "Because to me, it looks like you're pretty much done."

Crowley closed his eyes with a choked sob, knowing the archangel was right.

And then an echoing boom sounded through the church and Gabriel released him to turn toward the doors.

Crowley's head lolled to the side, terrified that it was Hastur come to claim him, but it wasn't. It was Aziraphale instead, standing there in the doorway, backlit by both the setting sun and his halo.

"Angel," Crowley breathed, nearly sobbing in relief.

Aziraphale strode in, his sword held out in front of him, his expression dark. "Step away from him, Gabriel," he said.

The archangel looked less than pleased to see his former co-worker there, but he masked it with a tight smile. "Aziraphale. I thought we had a deal."

"You made terms that I didn't agree with," Aziraphale told him. "And besides, I decided that you could never get your hands on what you sent me to get. No one should have it, Gabriel."

The archangel drew his shoulders back furiously. "You didn't get the item?"

Aziraphale stood up straight himself. "No, I did not. And no one will now, it's long gone."

Gabriel chuckled slightly and shook his head. "You know, you two are really starting to become too much of a pain."

"Then leave us alone," Aziraphale told him. "We have no interest in thwarting you, we just wish you would stop trying to use us."

"You are very bold," Gabriel said.

Crowley watched with bated breath as the two angels postured. Something was going to go down soon and he really hoped Aziraphale was going to be able to hold his own.

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders and suddenly his wings appeared, stretching wide and magnificent, the light coming through the stained-glass windows shimmering off of his white feathers in a kaleidoscope of colors. His halo was almost too bright for Crowley to look at but he couldn't quite bear to look away from this magnificent angel who just happened to be his friend.

"If you want to fight, Gabriel, I am willing to fight," Aziraphale told him. "But the winner must leave the other party alone."

Gabriel smirked and reached into his coat, pulling out his own sword. A little newer and longer than Aziraphale's, gleaming of angelic steel. "If that's what you choose to wager, then I won't refuse. I'm just surprised you would choose something so martial as your way to get back at me."

It was Aziraphale's turn to give a tight smile. "Yes, well, perhaps I am just weary of your constant bother."

Gabriel looked slightly taken aback at this, and spun his sword in a skilled arc and rolled his shoulders as well. His wings appeared, grey like a stormy sky, his halo practically sparking like accompanied lightning. "Very well, then. Let's not waste any time."

Aziraphale took a ready stance, wings arched, and his sword burst into flame. "Let us not."

Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale leapt toward Gabriel and the two met with a flash of steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a question for the scholars out there: can you guess who John Wulf's ancestor was? Because I'm curious to see if anyone can tell ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

It had been too long since Aziraphale had properly trained with his sword and it showed.

Two seconds into the fight, Gabriel had sliced him across the upper arm. He hissed and retreated a step as Gabriel smirked, kicking one of the rotting pews out of the way to advance.

"As I suspected, you're hardly up for this, are you? If you surrender now, Aziraphale, I might just have mercy on you. But I promise that if you go on, I'll simply hack you into the ground, and then decide what to do with whatever is left of you."

Aziraphale drew himself up straighter, and glowered at the archangel. "I'm not going to give up so easy this time." And he wouldn't. Before, he had been alone against Gabriel. It was amazing the vindication you could find when you had something behind you to protect.

Gabriel chuckled cruelly. "Really, Aziraphale, you expect me to believe that? What is this, some misguided form of revenge for what I did to you?"

"I could ask the same of you, but I already know the answer," Aziraphale said and glanced toward Crowley. His friend looked terrible, and he tried to share a little strength with the obviously terrified demon. "And no. It's not for me. I'm doing this for my friend."

He lunged forward, surprising Gabriel, and they traded several blows. This time it was the archangel driven back with a cut to the wrist.

Gabriel growled. "Alright, I guess I'm not going to go easy on you."

His wings flared in challenge and he lunged upward with a strong flap, pushing forward, attacking Aziraphale from above. The lesser angel raised his sword and caught the blow, but the force drove him to his knees. He gritted his teeth, then quickly shifted, forcing Gabriel's sword to one side before he kicked out at the other angel's legs, causing him to stumble. Aziraphale swiftly leapt backwards, aided by his wings and got one of the broken pews between himself and Gabriel as the archangel renewed his advance, furious.

"What exactly do you think you'll accomplish here?" he demanded. "You can't possibly think you'll win?"

Aziraphale blocked several more blows, before he leapt, wings aiding his agility and height, and came down behind Gabriel so he was now between the archangel and Crowley. Just in case Gabriel tried something.

"I have faith," Aziraphale said simply.

"You…" Gabriel's mouth twisted, obviously failing to come up with something despicable enough to call Aziraphale and simply lunged forward. Aziraphale was ready for him this time though. He leapt forward to meet his opponent and blocked Gabriel's blow, at the same time, manipulating one of the pews so that it flew through the air and struck the archangel broadside.

Gabriel flew through the air in a mass of splinters and lay in a heap with the broken wood, unmoving.

Aziraphale huffed a sigh of relief, extinguishing his sword and hurriedly turned toward Crowley.

His heart clenched at the sight, finally getting a good look at the demon. Crowley's eyes were wide and dull with pain, and he was shaking uncontrollably, his breathing labored. Aziraphale reached out and touched his friend's cheek gently, trying to avoid the horrific burns covering most of his skin. "Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry it took me so long."

"You came," Crowley said hoarsely.

"I'll get you out of here, just a moment…" Aziraphale turned to the chains that held Crowley when he saw the demon tense, and his eyes blow wide.

"Angel!"

Aziraphale spun back around just in time, raising his sword to block the blow Gabriel aimed at his back. His own back was now pressed against the alter and he could practically feel Crowley's frustration at his helplessness, hearing the sounds of the demon weakly pulling at the chains.

"I really hope you didn't think you could get rid of me that easily," Gabriel sneered.

"Wishful thinking," Aziraphale huffed, and pushed forward, causing the flames of holy fire to flare up on his sword again.

Gabriel sneered and moved swiftly. The hilt of his sword smashed into Aziraphale's jaw, causing the angel to stagger back. Before he could recover, Gabriel stabbed toward his chest.

Aziraphale twisted at the last moment so that the blade pierced his shoulder instead of his heart. White hot pain tore through him and he screamed.

Gabriel kicked him in the chest and Aziraphale flew backwards to smash into a pile of pews, the wood breaking under him as he fell into a tangle of limbs and wings. His sword flew out of his hand and extinguished.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley cried.

Gabriel was already on top of him, straddling Aziraphale's hips and pressing his sword to his throat. "Looks like check-mate, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale snarled and tried to get his wings up to batter at Gabriel, but the archangel grabbed one of them and twisted until Aziraphale felt something pop and numbing tingles exploded down the appendage in accompaniment with his strangled scream.

"I'd say it's been fun, but…" Gabriel shrugged. "We both know it hasn't."

Aziraphale's eyes darkened with the pain, but he was reaching for his sword and as Gabriel pressed his chin upward with the sharp blade to his throat, he saw it only inches from his left hand. He took a breath, and stretched, fingers grasping…

The sword met his palm and flared to life and he lashed out almost blindly at Gabriel, catching his wing with the flame.

Gabriel reared back with a cry and released Aziraphale for the moment to batt at his feathers as they burned and smoked up the room with a dark, cloying scent that made Aziraphale want to gag.

"You little bastard," Gabriel snarled as he spun around while Aziraphale rolled out of the way and climbed to his feet. "You'll pay!"

He lunged, but he was past furious while Aziraphale was keeping his cool. He simply waited, then stepped to the side, closing his eyes as he thrust with his sword.

Gabriel stopped as Aziraphale felt the jarring of his wrist and finally looked down. The sword had skewered the archangel through the side.

Both of them were still and silent. Gabriel's feathers were still smoldering and Aziraphale breathed a short sigh as he withdrew his blade with a wince.

Gabriel fell to his knees, astonishment on his face. His sword fell from his hand and Aziraphale kicked it to one side, before pointing his own blade, still blazing very close to Gabriel's throat. The archangel gulped, leaning back to avoid the flame.

"I believe I won the fight," Aziraphale stated, his injured arm pressed tightly against his chest to minimize movement. "You had best go back to Heaven. See that wound taken care of before you discorperate."

Gabriel blinked, and then nodded slowly as he began to climb to his feet again, his face reddening with fury. "Oh, I'll go back to Heaven. But don't think I won't leave without a parting gift. I'll leave you alone after this, Aziraphale. For good. Because you will be alone. For good."

Aziraphale saw what he meant a second later. He was already moving as Gabriel reached behind him and grabbed a jug that had been sitting beside the alter Crowley was chained to.

"No!" Aziraphale leapt forward, just as Gabriel sent the arc of water toward Crowley.

Aziraphale slammed across the alter and his injured friend, a second before the holy water hit his back and wings which he had brought up to protect Crowley.

He lay there for a long second, dazed and shocked as water dripped from his feathers onto the floor harmlessly as if his wings were an umbrella in the rain.

Funny, that. He'd shared his wing as an umbrella the first day he and Crowley had met. Some things never changed.

But the demon underneath him was non-responsive, and Aziraphale eased himself upright, carefully miracling the water from himself so that it evaporated safely and didn't drip on Crowley.

The demon was pale as death and looked unconscious. Aziraphale looked around quickly but Gabriel was gone. That was one thing to be thankful for at least. He turned gratefully back to his injured friend and forced the chains apart to free Crowley.

"It's over now, my dear. Oh, just look at you…" He swallowed hard and wet his lips. "Don't worry, I'll get you taken care of. Oh, Crowley, I'm sorry."

"s'not your fault," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale huffed slightly and ran a hand briefly through the demon's hair to soothe him. Of course he would choose to hear that. "Just hush, dear. Let me take care of this. It might hurt a little…"

He closed his eyes and raised his hands, manipulating what holy water was left in Crowley's wounds out of his body and into the air. Crowley gasped and his back arched against the pain, reaching out and grabbing hold of Aziraphale's coat with one hand.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and saw the beads of water floating in the air above Crowley. He waved his hand and they fell harmlessly to the floor. Crowley slumped back onto the alter with a soft whimper and finally seemed to fall unconscious, his hand slipping limply from Aziraphale's coat.

"There now, dear, I'll get you out of here." He was still furious, if not surprised, that Gabriel had set up in an old church. Of course he would want to make this as uncomfortable for Crowley as possible. And the longer they were here, the longer it would take Crowley to heal.

He slipped his arms under the demon's shoulders and knees, and gritted his teeth as the action hurt his shoulder abominably, but he didn't have much choice. He couldn't make Crowley walk out of here, even if he were conscious. It would just cause him further injury. He was just glad he had parked the Bentley outside.

Then a rumbling began and Aziraphale felt the obvious presence of angels. His breath caught in his throat, and he clutched Crowley to him as one of the windows began to crack.

He had only seconds to think and decided to miracle their escape. He closed his eyes and opened his wings, and summoned his power just as the windows blew open with thousands of shards of colored glass…

They crashed onto the floor of the bookshop. His haste and exhaustion had made the landing rough, and he winced for himself and Crowley. He was dizzy, and pushed himself onto his elbows as he crawled to his friend, his shoulder and wing aching terribly.

"Crowley?" he tried, seeing his friend lying on the floor, completely still, clothing half burned off from the abuse.

Aziraphale couldn't exert another ounce of energy, however, even for his friend. He slumped, one wing lying across Crowley in a protective gesture, as he collapsed beside him, cheek pressed against the floor as he thought how glad he was that he had put up that warding.

No one would be able to get to them here.

That was the last thought he had before he drifted into darkness.

~~~~~~~

" _Angel?"_

Aziraphale started awake and instantly felt his body sing with pain. He gasped, realizing he was lying on his injured wing and it was doing him no favors.

"Angel," the croak came again and Aziraphale finally blinked his eyes open again, coming face to face with the demon lying next to him on the floor.

Crowley's face was pale and covered in burns, his eyes wide and worried, as well as dulled by pain. Aziraphale's good wing was draped across him protectively and the angel pulled it back, instantly regretting the action as he watched Crowley shiver.

Aziraphale forced himself up into a sitting position, folding his good wing across his back. His injured one hung awkwardly at his side. He didn't think it was broken, but had the suspicion it was dislocated.

"Crowley, my dear boy…" he said before stopping and just shaking his head. "Don't worry, I'll get you taken care of."

Crowley didn't say anything, but his chest spasmed and he started to cough, rolling weakly onto his side with a wince. Blood came up, and Aziraphale's brow pinched in worry. It seemed Crowley's body had been damaged in more ways than he could tell from the brief examination he had made before they'd had to escape the church.

"There, there, dear," he murmured, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, but finding it was soaked in blood from his own wound, so he used the corner of his coat to wipe Crowley's mouth instead—he would have to clean it anyway. "I'll have you right as rain very soon, you'll see. Just wait a moment while I fetch some supplies and I'll get you settled."

He somehow pulled himself to his feet, suppressing a groan, his bad wing dragging uncomfortably on the floor because he couldn't tuck it against his back. He didn't bother to put them back on the ethereal plane however as it would just make the injury even more uncomfortable.

He went to the washroom to pull out the first aid kit he had taken to keeping around—never knew when they would need it—and realized with a sinking feeling that he was still dripping blood on the floor.

The wound in his shoulder was still bleeding apparently. And because it had been from an angelic weapon, it would take a while to heal.

He wanted to get back to Crowley quickly, but there was really nothing to be done about it. He couldn't help his friend if he was bleeding all over the place.

So he gingerly pulled his coat and waistcoat off, the process difficult and painful. His shoulder did not want to move very well. He peeled the ruined shirt from his shoulder, the blood sticking to the wound, and winced at the damage. Gabriel's sword had gone all the way through—no wonder it was still bleeding.

He took a deep breath and opened the kit. He pulled out some of the butterfly bandages and used them to close the wound as best he could, then packed it with gauze and taped more gauze over top of that. It was a messy job, but it was the best he could do one-handed.

His wing, he realized grimly, Crowley would have to help him with as there was no way he could manage that by himself. So he was just going to have to live with that for a little longer until Crowley had the strength to help.

He swiftly gathered his supplies, put on a clean shirt, and hurried back down to Crowley.

He spread a sheet over the couch and then hurried to the library where Crowley still lay on his side, motionless except for the jerky rise and fall of his chest from his labored breathing.

"Alright, Crowley, I just need to move you to the couch and then I'll begin to tend your wounds," he reassured his friend.

Crowley barely mumbled a reply, but his eyes flew open and he cried out as Aziraphale bent to heave him up again.

It was still not pleasant for his shoulder, and he could feel it starting to bleed again before he deposited Crowley, a little more heavily than intended, onto the couch.

He huffed a breath, then gently comforted his friend as Crowley had another coughing fit, leaving him wheezing and clutching the sheet underneath of him for support, more blood dripping from his lips.

"Shh," Aziraphale hushed. "Now just bear with me, Crowley, because I'm sure this won't be pleasant."

He began to undress Crowley to access his wounds. He tried to do it as gently as possible, but the process was very unpleasant since the fibers were sticking to the wounds everywhere the holy water had left its mark.

Crowley fought against him weakly. "Hurts, angel…" he groaned.

Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest. "I know, dear. I'm so sorry." He didn't bother to lie and say it would be over soon. There was no way this would be over soon. He realized this with a sinking feeling as he saw each inch of Crowley's tortured flesh revealed. Crowley met his eyes and seemed to see what he wasn't saying, but he gave a small nod instead, as if grateful for the truth. Then he clenched his jaw and braced himself for enduring it.

As each new injury was revealed Aziraphale felt more and more fury toward Gabriel. He had never hoped more that another creature was in pain right now, but he genuinely hoped that the wound he had given the archangel smarted something awful.

It wasn't just the small holy water burns that peppered Crowley's skin, it was the large patches on his back and feet that had blistered, evidence of where he'd touched the holy ground in the church.

But the worst of it all, where the spots on Crowley's stomach and around his throat that were in the obvious shape of Gabriel's hand, as if the archangel had held him down with his hand coated in holy water, burning into the demon's flesh. Aziraphale realized then what Crowley must have felt when he saw the bruises of the same shape across his face after the demon had rescued him from Heaven.

Once he had assessed the damage, he healed what he could—which wasn't much in his current state, and for the obvious fact that healing a demon wasn't entirely easy. But he was able to heal most of the internal damage, thus aiding Crowley's breathing, and also to force the handprint burns to fade to almost nothing.

After that, the worst part came.

He went to fetch a bowl and cloth and added a little soap before taking up the painful process of cleaning the wounds as gently as he could.

But the first few drops of water than landed on Crowley's skin had him nearly flying off the couch, eyes wide with terror.

"Crowley, my dear, it's just me!" Aziraphale said, nearly spilling the bowl as he reached up to grip Crowley's shoulder to calm him. "I'm just cleaning your wounds. Only a little soap and water."

Crowley shuddered and let out a small choking sob as Aziraphale eased him back onto the couch, resting a hand gently on his head until the demon settled again.

He continued debriding the wounds and every whimper that passed Crowley's lips or flinch that ran through his body sent a pang through Aziraphale's heart. Why couldn't Heaven and Hell just leave them alone? They only wanted to help people here on earth. What was so bad about that? Why did they have to suffer so?

Finally, the horrid task was through and Aziraphale set aside the red-tinged bowl and picked up the first aid kit.

There was a small tube of burn cream—probably not enough for all the spots that covered Crowley, but he decided to use it on the worst ones at least. He wasn't sure it would work on a demon, but it was worth a try.

As he worked, the cream seeming at least to not cause Crowley any more pain, the demon finally opened his eyes again.

"You 'kay…'ngel?"

Aziraphale met his friend's concerned eyes with a small smile. "Oh, nothing too bad, dear. Don't worry about me right now."

Crowley didn't look convinced, but couldn't really do anything about it in his current condition. Aziraphale hoped he wouldn't distress himself with his condition.

"'Zira? Wha' did'e want?" Crowley slurred.

Aziraphale paused before returning to a nasty spot on Crowley's belly. "It's not important, dear. He didn't get it. You don't need to worry."

Crowley reached out and grabbed his wrist, making Aziraphale turn back to meet his eyes.

"Terr'ble liar, 'ngel," he accused.

Aziraphale sighed and finally turned to him. "I promise I'll tell you everything when you're feeling better. I don't really have the energy right now."

Crowley seemed to accept that for now at least, and let his eyes fall to half-mast again.

Aziraphale finished up and taped gauze over the burns, before tucking a blanket around Crowley. He was worried. Just because Gabriel hadn't gotten his hands on that map, there was no telling if he, or Hell if they caught wind of what Gabriel had truly been planning, would try again. And to what end? Mr. Wulf was just a human after all, even if he did seem to know more than most.

But then, Aziraphale and Crowley had come to understand that you should never underestimate humans, and John Wulf was from the bloodline of the great warrior Beowulf himself. Perhaps everything would work out after all. Perhaps he would find some place to keep the map where it would, hopefully, never see the light of day again.

Aziraphale looked down at his sleeping friend and Crowley stirred and whimpered, reaching up from under the blanket. "'Zira…?"

"I'm here," Aziraphale said, patting his hand as sudden exhaustion overcame him. He took one look at Crowley's pleading eyes and shifted the demon a bit on the couch so he could sit at his head and position his injured wing over the side at a more comfortable angle; the other one he curled around and over his injured friend. Crowley seemed comforted by this and rested his head in Aziraphale's lap as the angel pulled the blanket tighter around him before he lay back against the couch and closed his eyes.

He wondered when Heaven and Hell would finally decide to leave them alone.

_~~~~~~~_

_The recovery wasn't pleasant_. After a couple days of rest that Aziraphale hadn't really meant to take but his body obviously demanded, Crowley at least was able to sit up and had enough energy to help Aziraphale with his wing. It was rather bad off, having been dislocated this whole time, but it felt a lot better once it was popped back into place, though he would need to rest up for a while before using it again. His shoulder also still smarted, and forced him to keep it in a sling, which hampered his ability to help Crowley, who's feet were still painful to walk around on, not to mention the strain on the rest of his body.

The demon especially had a difficult time of it, as his entire body was covered in wounds and it was hard for him to find a comfortable position to rest in. But at least the burns were healing, albeit slowly. He looked a bit less ghastly after about a week of recovery at least, even if the wounds were still in the process of fading.

They were also on edge, because there was no telling if Heaven or Hell would try anything. So far, there had been nothing but some rumors that Hell's relationship with Heaven was no longer completely simpatico. But they didn't really have time to worry about what that meant for them at the moment and they should be safe within the bookshop's warding, but at the same time, they would eventually have to venture out. They did have a job to do, after all.

But today Aziraphale was waiting for a visitor, and as he was in the kitchenette making tea a bit awkwardly with his arm in a cast, he heard the bell to the door ring.

He huffed in annoyance and simply snapped his fingers to boil the water and flicked his wrist to let the kettle pour itself into the teapot before he went to answer the door.

He grabbed his sword before he did. If he were paranoid, he didn't necessarily see it as a bad thing.

But it was his expected guest at the door instead of one of their enemies.

"Mr. Wulf, please come in," Aziraphale said with a smile, inviting the man inside and setting his sword back in the umbrella stand by the door.

The man nodded and stepped into the shop, taking off the hat he had been wearing.

Aziraphale led him to the back room where Crowley was waiting, not a little suspiciously. Wulf eyed him with the look of a man who could see right through him.

"I take it this is your business partner then?"

"Yes, this is Crowley," Aziraphale said.

"You two look like you've been through it," Wulf commented.

"We have," Crowley snipped. "Though you look like you've got some scars yourself, old man."

Aziraphale blanched at his friend's rudeness, but Wulf smiled and reached out to shake the demon's hand. "It's a hard life we live."

Aziraphale sighed. Unfortunately, that was becoming more and more true. "I have tea ready, would you like some?"

Crowley instantly headed toward the kitchen. "I got it, angel."

Aziraphale looked down at his sling regrettably as Crowley limped slightly on his way to get the tea but it was better than spilling everything on the floor.

He motioned for Wulf to sit down at the table and the man took the messenger bag he had been carrying off his shoulder and set it carefully at his feet.

Crowley came back in with the tea tray and set it down as Aziraphale started handing out cups and pouring the comforting drink.

Once they had all settled, Aziraphale turned to Wulf. "Well? Is it safe?"

The man nodded, reaching for the sugar and stirring a cube into his cup. "Warded, locked away…hidden. All but forgotten."

Aziraphale nodded, admitting he felt a little relieved, yet at the same time, still somewhat on edge. He never condoned destroying artifacts, but at the same time—if there ever was a reason…

But then, you never knew if it might come in handy someday.

"Aziraphale says you have something to help us," Crowley spoke up after a few seconds.

Wulf nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out two small velvet pouches. Aziraphale and Crowley both took one and looked inside.

The angel pulled out a small medallion with old sigils of a Celtic origin.

"It's for protection and concealment," Wulf explained. "My family have used them during rough times. They will make it so you slip from the minds of your enemies. They don't work if you meet face to face, but as long as you avoid them they shouldn't have reason to come looking for you. I don't know if it will work on powerful beings such as yourselves, but…"

"It's worth a try," Crowley said and looped the pendant around his neck.

Aziraphale did the same, tucking it beneath his collar. "Thank you again, for bringing us these, Mr. Wulf. Let us know if there's ever anything we can do for you."

The man smiled as he stood and grabbed his bag. "I can handle myself. From the looks of it, you two might be the ones who need assistance. Call if you need anything."

He left the shop and Aziraphale and Crowley sat in silence for a moment, before the demon ruminatively stared into his tea, fingering the pendant around his neck.

"You think it will actually work, angel?" he asked quietly.

Aziraphale sighed. "There's no way of knowing, really. We can only hope, I suppose."

Crowley sighed and slumped in his chair, lines of pain and weariness showing heavily on his face. "It seems all we do is hope anymore, Aziraphale. It was supposed to be different. Now that we're free. But it's almost worse. Now we're suddenly public enemy number one."

Aziraphale understood. It was hard trying to do good while being hunted down by the people they used to work for.

But in the end, as long as they stayed true to themselves, what did it really matter what anyone else thought.

"I know it can seem a bit hopeless at times," he said with a gentle smile toward Crowley. "But we also stopped an Apocalypse with an eleven-year-old boy. We're not entirely helpless, and eventually they'll realize that."

"When we're dead, maybe," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale reached across the table and rested his hand over Crowley's wrist. "Don't fret, dear. We'll figure this out too. After all, it's possible we might have to stop another Armageddon in the future."

Crowley groaned. "Hopefully not too soon. I don't think I can take another one for a few decades."

Aziraphale smiled. "Oh, I think it will take them at least that long to organize it."

Crowley shook his head, but stared directly at the angel. "Let's just promise to always be on _our_ side, okay angel?"

Aziraphale nodded firmly and raised his cup of tea. "Always."

They clinked cups and drank to hopefully a brighter future.


End file.
